


The Devil's Confessional

by idelthoughts



Series: Procedurals of New York [2]
Category: Forever (TV), Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Christianity, Flirting, Gen, Good and Evil, Mind Manipulation, Not-Quite Identity Reveal, Pre-Series, Pretentious Use of Classical Quotes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-18 17:54:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8170618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idelthoughts/pseuds/idelthoughts
Summary: Nothing says "sorry for nearly running you over" like a drink, a shoulder to cry on, and an irresistible invitation to spill all your secrets.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [island-mountain-glacier (Obscurity)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Obscurity/gifts).



> Thank you to A for the beta pass! Much appreciated!

**Los Angeles, 2011**

 

The only thing that could have made Henry’s god-forsaken trip to Los Angeles worse was an accidental death.  As headlights blinded him and the squeal of tires sliding on asphalt accompanied the revving of a sports car engine, Henry calculated the odds of his holiday-turned-disaster hitting one hundred percent.  

 _1961 Classic Corvette_ , he noted as he instinctively cringed away from the flash of gleaming black-on-black careening towards him.  He would exit in style, if nothing else—a small consolation as he paid the price for his inattentiveness.

The impact never came.

The ticking of hot metal cooling filled the sudden silence, and was then topped by a sardonic bone-dry, “Mate, you’re taking yolo a little too seriously, don’t you think?”

Henry’s dazzled vision readjusted to the low amber streetlights, revealing a dark leather interior and a young man as shiny and elegant in black as his car, punctuated by the gleam of gold rings on elegant fingers wrapped around the steering wheel, and a pale face bearing a blinding white shark’s smile.

“I beg your pardon?”  Henry, thoroughly prepared for a swim and already sorting out the logistics of obtaining clothing in an unfamiliar city, momentarily floundered at the abrupt shift in direction.  “‘Yolo?’”

“You only live once, as the kids say,” the man supplied, with an edge to the words that indicated a private joke.

“Ah, I see.  Yes, I’m something of a natural,” Henry said, finding his own bitter humour in it.  He glanced up and down the Los Angeles street he’d thought to be deserted at this time of night, so far in his own thoughts that he hadn’t noticed the car when he stepped out to cross.  He was miles from his hotel, and with luck he’d be exhausted enough to sleep by the time he was back.  The adrenaline rush and fade might do him a service, in the end.  He tipped his head to the man in the car and took a few careful steps around the front of the car angled a mere two feet from him.  “Apologies for the unintended excitement.  Have a good night.”

“‘Have a good night?’  I nearly run you down in the middle of the street and not so much as a strong word?” The smile turned puzzled.  “Either you’ve got the kind of forgiving nature a saint would kill for, or you may not have grasped the situation.”

“I… had other things on my mind.”  The lump in his throat threatened to rise, and he blinked and forced a laugh.  “I’ll be more careful on my return walk.”

The car rolled forward alongside him, angled to intercept his path and block him.  He stopped, surprised, and the car lurched to a stop with him.  The man gave Henry a calculated once-over that lingered and crawled like a living thing over Henry’s skin; it measured his breath, his slowing pulse, his unconcern beyond the brief reflexive survival instinct that still hadn’t dulled over all these years, to pluck out the sleepless night and aimless wandering spurred by a distress that consumed him.

“You, my friend, look like Hell—and I say that from a position of _extensive_ experience.  Tell you what, let me buy you a drink.”  The man leaned across the seat and flung the passenger’s door open, his brash grin in full force once more.  The door rocked on its hinge and came to a standstill, angled towards Henry like a beckoning, outstretched arm.  “Least I can do for taking a few years off your life.”

“I…”  Henry couldn’t quite find the impetus to walk away from the offer, though he knew he should.  He opened his mouth to make an excuse, but found he had none.  “I’m sorry, I don’t—”

“Come on, don’t be shy.”  The man briskly patted the leather seat.  “You talk it out.”

“What makes you think I have anything to talk about?”  Henry asked, puzzled at the offer, the conversation, and why he was still continuing it.  Aside from the last few days with Abraham, it was the longest interaction he’d had with anyone for months aside from the usual pleasantries of daily business.

“Everyone does,” he responded with a ludicrous waggle of his eyebrows. “People like to tell me things.  I’ve been told I’m a very good listener.”

Despite himself, Henry pulled his pocket watch from his vest and flipped it open.  Two in the morning.  It was ages until visiting hours would start again, and he doubted any level of exhaustion would bring him sleep.

Why not?

 

***

 

The drink Henry accepted was garnished with pineapple slices and paper umbrellas that dwarfed the curved glass, and ran the gamut of colourful shades from top to bottom.

“Virgin, as requested.  Though why you’d deny yourself the pleasure of alcohol, I can’t begin to imagine.  Vices are what make these short mortal lives worth living.”  He waved an airy hand to the people surrounding them.

Henry could barely hear the voice over the rumbling thunder of what passed for music in this day and age.  The primal beat thumped and reverberated through his body like an irresistible second heartbeat, one that threatened to take him over and suck him along into the hedonistic writhing of the young and foolish dancing their cares away.  They sought escape, or partnership, whatever distraction they could attain, the beat driving all thoughts away but those of the here and now.

He’d tried it all, and thus far the only true soporific that helped was indifference.  For twenty-five years he’d managed a fine approximation of it.  Tonight had ripped that tissue paper pretense to shreds.

“You’re going to scare away my patrons with that glum attitude.”  Henry blinked out of his reverie to see his hand extended.  “Lucifer Morningstar.  We were never properly introduced.”

“Er, sorry.  Henry Morgan.”  Henry took the proffered hand and shook it; firm grip, uncompromising, lingering longer than was necessary.  He’d long since dropped the title ‘Doctor’ from his introductions, though the taste of it lingered on his tongue each time.  “This is your establishment?”

“My home away from home.”  Lucifer dropped heavily onto the couch at his side, invading his personal space and wrapping an arm around Henry’s shoulders.  He leaned in close, dropping to a normal tone rather than shouting.  “What better way to enjoy all those vices than bring them straight to your own door, eh?”

The lascivious, seductive tone, along with the words purposefully directed to let his breath be felt on Henry’s neck, left no illusions over what other vices Lucifer was proposing for this evening.  Despite everything, Henry was tempted—it would certainly make the intolerable night pass quickly.  However, he dismissed the notion, as he would prove a poor partner in anything tonight.  He seized on the obvious distraction.

“Lucifer Morningstar?   _Lux_?  A little on the nose, isn’t it?”

“‘Hell is empty and all the devils are here,’” Lucifer quoted with a grin, unphased by the lack of response to his proposition, and he waved his drink to encompass the night club.  “And where’s home for you?”

“London,” Henry said easily.  Over the better part of the last decade he’d been there as often as not, though he’d travelled extensively in the last few years, ending up in Japan and the Philippines.  That was the whole point of meeting Abe in Los Angeles, to find a halfway point between them that would be easy.

It should have been easy, a simple opportunity to catch up.  Henry ducked his head, wincing.  He was a blind fool.

Lucifer squeezed Henry’s shoulder with familiar camaraderie, as though they’d known each other for ages, and the firm press into Henry’s tense muscles sent a wave of relaxation through him.

“Now, come on,” Lucifer said with sympathy oozing from him like honey.  “Tell us your woes, hm?  What’s got that pretty mouth all frowny?”

“My son is in the hospital,” Henry said simply, with reflexive ease.  “Angina.”

Exhaustion, trying to keep up with Henry.  In his enthusiasm, he’d dragged him around this city, sight-seeing, the world coming alive again in the company of the boy he loved.

Not a boy anymore.  An old man.  Henry was a doctor, he should _seen_ it—

“Ah,” Lucifer said, sagely nodding.  “A father’s love for the welfare of his son.  What a beautiful thing.”  The bitter flavour to his comment was unmistakable.

Son.   _Son_.  Henry blinked rapidly, eyeing Lucifer’s profile, uncertain how the word had fallen out so easily.  It was too late to take it back; it would only raise more suspicion.  His pulse raced as a double-time companion to the club music.  He took a sip of his drink to hide his nervous confusion, but nearly poked himself in the eye with a colourful paper umbrella.

“And what ails the little scamp?”  Lucifer asked.

The image readily leapt forward: Abe, asleep and far too frail in the hospital bed, as the hospital staff chased Henry out until visiting hours began again tomorrow morning.  Angina; a word he understood from his decades as a doctor, but surely not his _son_ , not Abe.  But there he’d been, clutching his chest and struggling to breathe, eyes wide with surprise and fear.  Dehydration, over-exertion, all in an effort to keep up with Henry’s youthful energy, unwilling to admit to his father how much he’d aged in the twelve years since they’d last seen each other.  Henry hadn’t noticed, too blinded by joy in seeing his son again, by his purposeful denial of what a decade did to a mortal man, an _old man…_

“And how did you come by an old man for a son?”

Henry jerked and started back from Lucifer, from the dark eyes peering straight into his soul, shining a blinding light on his deepest held secrets.  He snapped his mouth shut, but the words “ _a mortal man, an old man_ ” lingered between them, spoken aloud.

“Come on, Henry, don’t stop there,” Lucifer purred, cocking his head as though to peek beneath the curtain of silence Henry tried and failed to draw.  It was much like being a mouse under the stalking inspection of a cat.  “Tell me more about your son.  You like to talk about him, don’t you?”

Lucifer’s voice slid like satin over his skin, both invitation and command, plucking at every memory of Abe—the first moment of seeing him in Abigail’s arms, of scraped knees and school awards, of sharing the joys of his marriage and the heartbreak of his divorce, of the evolution from father to friend to son in the eyes of the world.  Henry couldn’t think of anything but Abe, of how badly he needed to speak of him, to share everything.

“You’re proud of him.  You _love_ him, and you want everyone to know it.”

“I don’t…” Henry winced as he fought the compulsion.  “He’s… I—”

“Oh, you can tell me.  It’ll just be between us.”  His arm held Henry in an inescapable embrace, though he exerted no physical pressure.  “You want to tell someone.  I know you do.  Everyone needs someone to confide in, don’t they?  Come on, no judgment here, darling.  Trust me, I’ve heard it all.”

Henry’s head ached from the din of all his private thoughts fighting like living things to pour from him, as though they belonged to Lucifer and wished to return home.  He did need someone, needed anyone.  Abigail had left him, he’d missed decades of Abe’s life while selfishly travelling and trying to pretend to himself he didn’t exist, to numb himself to human emotion, and now he’d finally gotten up the courage to meet Abe in the halfway point of Los Angeles, to find Abe was as frail as any mortal.  He might lose his son, the only person left to him in this world, and he’d truly be alone...

Henry stuttered out twisted and half-voiced words as he fought himself to keep all this inside.

“Not just your son, is it?  You’ve got all kinds of things hidden away in there.”  Lucifer tapped Henry’s forehead, the impact resounding like a sledgehammer through his skull.  “Henry, tell me.”

How was Lucifer’s voice so loud?  Why couldn't Henry move?

“ _Tell me._ ”

Lucifer’s eyes flashed an impossible colour, like the inside of a furnace, and scalding heat blasted over Henry.  He shuddered, and the glass tumbled from his numb fingers, splashing all across Lucifer’s lap.

Lucifer looked down with a startled, indignant scoff.  At the break of eye contact, the illusion faded, gone as though it had never been, and Henry gasped in a lungful of air, fresh as the first breath after his revival.  If not for the ringing in his ears and the blinding headache, he’d have doubted it had ever happened.  He scrambled back, staggering upright.  His calves knocked up against the low table edging the sofa, hemming him in from an easy escape.

“There are less messy ways to get me out of my pants,” Lucifer said with a disdainful sigh, and he looked up at Henry with a raised eyebrow.  Another raking inspection, and he leaned back a little as though to put Henry in perspective, a lord in his manor surveying a recalcitrant subject.  “Now, aren’t you a complicated one?”

“Who are you?” Henry demanded.  “What do you want?”

“Lucifer Morningstar?  The Devil?  You know, I do get a little tired of repeating myself—by far the most tedious thing about the mortal realm.”  Lucifer pouted in sullen reproach at Henry.  “And what I want is a change of clothes.  These trousers are _completely_ ruined, thank you very much, and with nothing to show for it.”  He pointed at Henry, tutting.  “You are a tease, Henry Morgan.  Can’t give half a story like that.”

“People tend not to believe in the impossible.”  His denial was as weak as his muscles, which trembled like he’d been fleeing for his life.  The Lord’s prayer, recited every evening in Henry’s childhood home, still a reflexive memory even centuries after his belief had faded, came to him unbidden.   _Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil..._

“Things like men in their thirties having elderly sons in the hospital, for example?  Henry, why do I get the feeling you’ve got experience with people not believing in you either?”

“I…”  Henry swallowed and looked from side to side.  His exit was open.  He sidled away from Lucifer, whose gaze tracked him carefully, but he did not stop Henry.  “I must be going.  Thank you for the drink.”

“No thanks necessary.  You gave most of it back.”

Henry turned and moved to push through the crowd, having to circumnavigate a young woman who stood in his path like immovable iron gates, watching him with the same eerie gaze as Lucifer—a bodyguard or bouncer of some kind, judging by her physicality.  He fled the club as quickly as he could, gasping in the fresh night air.  He hurried from the club, unsure of his direction, only knowing that he wanted to put distance between himself and the man who proclaimed himself the Devil and pried a man’s secrets from him as easily as shucking an oyster.

With a trembling hand, Henry checked his pocket watch again.  Nearly four in the morning.  Enough time to find his hotel again, shower, and then return to the hospital for visiting hours.  Henry hurried onward into the night, desperately trying to forget the odd, impossible encounter—and he quickly lost himself in his concerns for Abe.

One thing had become clear in these last two days in Los Angeles: it was time for Henry to return to New York and be with Abe.  That, and  his expanding research into human mortality meant revisiting the medical field in some capacity—he’d been mulling over ways to pursue that while still honouring his penance for his broken oath, and New York might provide the opportunity he’d been searching for in his travels.  He doubted Abe would like it, but he had time to prepare his proposal as he walked.

He would make the most of his time with Abe and cling to what grace was left him.  Abe would survive this—the doctors had assured him there was no damage to his heart, only a warning sign to slow down.

And, a warning sign that Henry’s time with his son was limited.  When he was gone, solitude would be his damnation, and he needed no Devil to remind him of that eternal fate.

“‘Where we are is hell, and where hell is must we ever be,’” he murmured to himself.  Henry cast a last backwards glance at the shining, brilliant _Lux_ and walked on.

 

**Author's Note:**

>  _Hell is empty and all the devils are here_  
>  -The Tempest, Act 1, Scene 2
> 
>  _Where we are is hell, and where hell is must we ever be_  
>  -Doctor Faustus


End file.
